


Playing to Win

by forthegreatergood



Series: Punctuated Equilibrium [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegreatergood/pseuds/forthegreatergood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark talks Bruce into a change of pace.</p>
<hr/><p>If Bruce could spend eight hours straight crouching in the shadows during a freezing downpour just to make sure a gang didn’t move their cache of drugs and weapons ahead of schedule, spending an extra hour in bed wasn’t going to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing to Win

**Author's Note:**

> All characters property of DC Comics and/or their respective affiliates.
> 
> Not beta-read. Please post any noticed errors in the comments, and they'll get fixed.

Clark ran his hands over Bruce’s chest, chuckling at the low growl it earned him. Bruce glowered at him and strained against the leather cuffs securing his hands to the headboard.

“These need to go,” he said firmly.

“But I like the way they look on you,” Clark protested, kissing him gently. “And I like the way you look in them.”

_And you rush through foreplay and won’t let me touch you or take my time getting you off or hold you afterwards_ , he added silently. _And I’ve only been kissing you for a few minutes, and you’re already getting impatient._

They’d made a sort of habit of fucking, which Clark couldn’t complain about, but Bruce generally ensured that their encounters were fast and rough, which he _could_ complain about. If Bruce could spend eight hours straight crouching in the shadows during a freezing downpour just to make sure a gang didn’t move their cache of drugs and weapons ahead of schedule, spending an extra hour in bed wasn’t going to kill him.

“ _Please_?” he asked softly, digging his hands under Bruce’s back and lifting him for a better angle. He kissed his way down Bruce’s throat and rutted against him languidly, his cock sliding over the flat planes of his stomach.

“What happened to playing fair?” Bruce breathed, arching up against him.

“I thought I’d give playing to win a try,” he retorted. “Got the idea from a friend.” He squeezed Bruce’s ass for emphasis and smirked. 

He rolled his eyes and gave one more disgruntled tug, then let his hands drop to the end of the short tether. Clark smiled and nudged his mouth open, pushing his tongue against Bruce’s until he pushed back. He reached up with one hand and smoothed Bruce’s hair down. The thick black leather of the restraints put him in mind of the gauntlets Bruce had been wearing last time they’d had sex, and he clutched Bruce tighter for a moment. It turned out that getting shot with kryptonite was rather a different experience now that the Batman didn’t have to confine his post-recovery emotional response to irritable accusations of recklessness or the ever-popular silent denial that he _had_ emotions. He ran his hands over his chest and came to rest at his hips.

It had been strange, fucking Bruce around the suit. All the places he couldn’t touch, couldn’t see either at all or without using his x-ray vision, couldn’t taste. At the same time, though, it was the least guarded Bruce had ever been with him. As unsettling as looking at the cowl during sex had been, there had been compensation for it in the raw need with which Bruce had kissed him, the tenderness with which he’d clung to him, and the abandon with which he’d thrust into him. But it had underlined what had been missing during most of their trysts, those last few walls he so rarely managed to bring down.

He sighed slightly, tracing Bruce’s abs with his lips. It always seemed that the more clothing he stripped off the man, the more ways he found to hide behind other barriers. Still, he thought, running his tongue over the bare skin of Bruce’s stomach, there was something unbelievable about having him naked and stretched out beneath him that hadn’t diminished at all with the number of times he’d gotten it. Bruce shivered under him as the tip of his tongue found the track of an old scar and followed it up to where the weapon had glanced off his ribs.

“Stop that,” he hissed, flexing against him.

“Be more careful next time,” Clark scolded good-naturedly. He lifted his head and smiled at Bruce, one corner of his mouth curling up mischievously. 

“I could say the same thing to you,” Bruce snorted. His eyes fell on the raw pink spike of fresh scar tissue marring the skin of Clark’s shoulder, and Clark flushed.

“It’s fading,” he said quickly. “Nothing permanent.”

Bruce snorted again and started to say something. It was quickly superseded by a groan when Clark bent his head and ran his tongue around the tip of Bruce’s cock. He licked down along the shaft before taking him into his mouth and sucking him unhurriedly for a few minutes.

“You were saying?” he asked, leaning back.

Bruce’s eyes snapped open in surprise. He glared at him and twisted one of the cuffs. Clark grinned. When he’d suggested it, the aesthetic consideration had been a distant second to just getting Bruce to _stay put_ for once. But looking at him now, with his muscles taut under his pale skin, his arms tensing against the leather pinioning his hands together above his head, and his dark blue eyes alight with frustration, he thought the aesthetic component had been sold short rather egregiously. He’d have to bring it up with Lois again at some point. She’d dropped it after he’d pointed out that it seemed a little silly to talk about tying him up, but if he could give her the view that Bruce was giving him at the moment, it would be worth it.

Bruce shifted under him, making the leather creak and the sheets Clark had left bunched around his thighs rustle. “Something on your mind?”

“You’re absolutely gorgeous like this.” _I should have done this months ago. I should have done this_ years _ago. Thank you for saving my life, again. Stop freezing me out. Let me in. I love you. I want to hear you panting my name like a prayer._

Before Bruce had a chance to respond, Clark took him by the hips and flipped him over. He grunted in surprise and looked over his shoulder. The Kryptonian’s eyes glittered in the half-light, and then he was straddling Bruce’s thighs and following the column of his spine with his tongue. Bruce let his head fall back onto the pillow. The leather dug into his wrists slightly at the new angle, and he groaned as more of Clark’s weight settled onto his back. Finally, he thought.

As much as Clark being behind him and out of his line of sight made him tense instinctively, it was something of a relief not to have to meet that piercing blue gaze directly. Some small, irrational part of him still recoiled from that look in panic, convinced that nobody could look at him like that and stay with him. That nobody could look at him that way and live. It had been that part of him that had pulled Clark down and taken him like an animal barely minutes after the wound in his shoulder had closed up, too desperate for confirmation that he was alive and safe to strip out of the suit first. He’d resolved to make it up to him next time, though the look Clark had given him afterwards--sad, confused, maybe a little angry--had made him wonder if there would be a next time.

Clark reached his shoulder blades, and his warm breath made the hair on the nape of his neck stand up. His thumb ran along the edge of an old scar that still twinged sometimes after too much stretching. Killer Croc’s work. He closed his eyes and thanked whatever luck he had left that Clark didn’t find his scars off-putting. He couldn’t find it in himself to return the favor yet. The mark on his shoulder was hard to think of as anything other than gross vandalism, the malicious defacing of something that should have been inviolate. 

Clark’s lips fastened onto his neck where it met his right shoulder, and he found himself breathing faster as the dull ache of the incipient bruise set in. He hadn’t figured Clark for the territorial type before that night on the Watchtower. Then again, he hadn’t figured the boy scout would go in for something like this--he pulled at the restraints, and Clark’s teeth dug gently into his skin until he stopped--before he’d asked about it, either. Clark ground against him slightly, his erection settling against his ass, heavy and slick and welcome. Bruce shifted and spread his legs as much as the tangled sheet would let him, only to have Clark reposition his knees, forcing his thighs back together between them. He gritted his teeth.

“Tease,” he accused.

“Maybe a little,” Clark agreed affably, grinding against him more firmly. Bruce curled up to meet him. “Not much you can do about it at the moment, though, is there?”

Bruce bit back a groan, and his cock throbbed against his belly. Clark sat up and dug his fingers gently into his shoulders, kneading at the knotted muscles until they started to relax. He worked his way slowly down Bruce’s back, stroking and massaging until the man was pliant--as pliant as he got, anyway--beneath him. Clark flipped him back over and grinned at the slightly unfocused expression on Bruce’s face.

“Will you quit stalling and fuck me already?” he grunted, thrusting up against Clark.

“I’m sure I’ll get around to it at some point,” Clark said nonchalantly, earning himself a venomous glare. 

He stroked Bruce’s cock lightly in response, then watched as he threw his head back and hissed, his lips pulling back from his teeth in something approaching a snarl. Clark was still amazed at the way he could provoke such a response from him, at the way he would let himself go under his hands, at the way his mask of anger and control and cold remove could dissolve into heat and passion and need with the right stimulus.

Clark let go, and Bruce growled in frustration. He leaned forward, pinning him and kissing him insistently. Bruce nipped his lower lip, and he pulled back enough to look into his eyes.

“Is it so wrong to take some time over this?” he asked, cupping Bruce’s face tenderly. When Bruce didn’t answer, he ran his hands over his ribs and started kneading the muscle gently. Bruce pulled at the cuffs reflexively, trying to bring his arms back down. Clark kissed him again, deep and slow this time, as his hands continued their careful prodding.

After he was satisfied that he’d worked out the worst of the knots, he nuzzled Bruce’s neck and reached down, taking his cock firmly in hand. He bucked against him and groaned, and Clark felt his own cock throb in response. He moved back down Bruce’s body and tore the sheets away, settling between his thick-muscled thighs. The sight of Bruce stretched out on the bed, his hands balled into fists above the thick leather cuffs and the rest of his body open and waiting for him, sent a wave of pure lust down his spine. It still wasn’t as thrilling as the security of knowing Bruce would be there until he saw fit to let him go. He slid his hands over Bruce’s stomach, and down along his legs, then crouched, hooking one of Bruce’s knees over his shoulder. He pinned Bruce’s hips firmly against the bed and took him in his mouth, circling the glans with his tongue and sucking lazily at the shaft. Bruce gasped and thrust up hard enough to bruise himself against Clark’s hands without budging the iron grip.

Bruce gritted his teeth and tried not to wrench at the bonds. The sight of Clark’s lips wrapped around his cock, the feel of the hot, wet tongue slowly tracing his foreskin, the slight pain of that unyielding hold....It was torture not being able to tangle his fingers in that dark hair and guide him or pull him up to kiss him. He wanted to roll Clark over and bury himself in him until he came, his cries wordless and piercing, his face unspeakably beautiful in the moment of climax, his fingers leaving marks in spite of his best effort to be careful. The way he apologized afterward, all blushes and stammers, but couldn’t help but fit his fingers over them the next time, a silent declaration of “mine” that he’d never verbalize, inevitably made Bruce want to fuck him into a frenzy all over again. 

Clark sped up, but only a little, and he groaned and writhed. Like everything else since he’d let Clark buckle the damn things around his wrists, it was too slow, too light, too _not enough_ , but not so much that he could claim that it wasn’t working with any hope of success. It was obviously working, to the point of driving him insane. The slow tongue-strokes along his shaft went from firm to feather-light, and he twisted the restraints. He didn’t expect them to give--Selina had picked them out, and she didn’t settle for substandard equipment--but the alternative was trying to break Clark’s grip. The leather held. Clark’s amused hum vibrated through his cock and straight down every nerve in his body. His vision went gray as he came, his heel digging into Clark’s back and his hips still pressed hard into the mattress. Clark swallowed around him and didn’t relent until he was shuddering and gasping. He lay back, drained, and Clark turned his head and pressed a warm, wet kiss against the inside of Bruce’s thigh. Bruce shivered, and he shifted position, draping one forearm over Bruce’s hips to keep him where he wanted him. Clark popped the lid off a jar of oil.

“You ready?” he asked softly. Bruce nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

“You really are beautiful like this, you know,” he murmured, dragging his tongue over the spot he’d just kissed. Bruce’s eyes flickered open, and he met Clark’s gaze. He looked rapt, his cheeks flushed and his sky blue eyes bright.

“Hopeless,” Bruce muttered. Clark nipped gently at the still-damp patch of skin his lips rested on. Bruce growled and moved his leg away. “Don’t get too used to it.”

“Too late,” Clark laughed. 

“Hopeless,” he repeated, shaking his head. 

Clark was clearly enjoying himself--to a somewhat irritating extent, actually--but not being able to run his hands over him was surprisingly unsettling. He was so close, but still impossible to grasp, to get any kind of grip on. He closed his eyes, focusing on the warm weight of Clark’s arm across his stomach, the sweat-slicked firmness of his shoulder under his knee, the steady rise and fall of his chest against his free leg. Bruce arched and groaned as Clark’s oiled fingers pressed into him, stretching and spreading and rubbing. He tried to relax around the gently thrusting fingers, taking deep breaths and focusing on the sensation of being opened. Clark rested his cheek against his knee, clearly planning on taking his time. For once, Bruce was content with the delay. It had been some time since he’d done this, and Clark was hardly small.

Clark carefully added a third finger, his eyes on Bruce’s face even as he listened to the ebb and surge of Bruce’s heartbeat. He was so warm, and so, so tight. His cock leaked, so far beyond ready that he was beginning to ache, and Clark swallowed thickly. He twisted his fingers, and Bruce shuddered around him and moaned. He thrust in and drew out slowly, feeling the give and tension in Bruce’s flesh. He brushed a kiss over Bruce’s knee, almost wishing Bruce were more accustomed to this.

“Let me know when you’re ready, all right?” he asked, his voice rough with lust.

“Who’s in a hurry now?” Bruce gritted, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut as Clark twisted his fingers again.

“Beautiful,” Clark murmured. A slight sheen of sweat made his skin glow in the dim light, his face was stamped with an expression of pure need, and he was already almost completely hard again. His body was responding to even the slightest movement of his fingers like a finely-tuned instrument. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Bruce’s back arched as Clark’s fingers found their mark again, and he choked back a groan as Clark carefully coaxed him back to the edge. He shot him a look that was all but a dare. “Come on, farm-boy.”

Even if he hadn’t been worried that Bruce still wasn’t quite ready, he knew better than to take the bait. He smiled serenely and slowed down.

“I don’t know. You still feel awful tight,” he teased.

He recognized a calculating glint in Bruce’s eyes for a second and suppressed a sigh. He was probably going to pay for that one, if Bruce had his way.

“You’re right,” Bruce grunted, trying to keep his voice level. Clark spread his fingers slightly, slowly, and watched him struggle to keep control of himself. “I may not be able to...” He tensed and swallowed thickly, then relaxed as Clark withdrew slightly. “...take you at all.”

“Play fair,” Clark whispered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anything as badly as he wanted to be inside him right now.

“Play to win,” Bruce countered, barely managing to keep himself from squirming in Clark’s grip. The hard edge in his voice was blunted by the desire it was buried under.

“I give, I give,” Clark soothed. “What are the terms of surrender?”

Bruce’s lips quirked upward briefly, victorious. “Stop talking and fuck me.”

He had the condom on and slicked in one second, then was pressing gently into him the next. “Tell me if it starts to hurt.”

Bruce went still beneath him, his breathing falling into a deep, regular pattern. Clark closed his eyes and focused on keeping his progress slow and even, Bruce’s heart beating a steady rhythm in his ears and against his skin. He was halfway in when Bruce’s breath hitched a little. He stilled immediately, his jaw clenching as Bruce shifted beneath him, shifted _around_ him.

“Keep going,” he hissed, wrapping his legs around Clark and trying to pull him closer.

“Hold on a minute,” he said, resting his forehead against Bruce’s chest and keeping his hands locked on his hips. “You’re so tight. Please, I don’t want this to hurt for you.”

He gave one last, frustrated twist, then sighed in resignation and relaxed. “You’re not hurting me. Please, Clark...I need this. I need _more_.”

Clark groaned. Bruce’s breath across his ear, the fevered closeness of his flesh, his words, his all-but-pleading tone combined to make his heart pound. Bruce never seemed to understand what it did to him on those rare occasions when he was reduced to saying _please_. He slid in slowly, almost forgetting to breathe until he was fully seated, Bruce’s body fitting perfectly against him and around him. He held still for a moment, then slipped one arm behind Bruce’s hips and the other under his back, clutching him tightly. Bruce grunted in surprise and stiffened before relaxing again. Clark curled his hand around the back of his neck and buried his face in Bruce’s throat. The thrum of Bruce’s heartbeat and the taste of his skin and the jolt that went through his cock every time Bruce moved even the smallest muscle were crashing over him like a tsunami. He couldn’t properly tell where he began and ended, and he was dizzy with it.

“You’re going to have to move sometime,” Bruce pointed out, his voice strained.

Clark laughed softly. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing to me here.”

His answer was a whisper of a kiss to the temple and strong legs wrapping back around his waist. Clark pulled back, then let Bruce guide him forward again. He increased his pace gradually, trying not to lose himself too badly, until Bruce was panting and thrashing under him, seeming to be barely cognizant of the cuffs as he reached for him. One last, barely intelligible “Clark!” and he came hard, holding Bruce to him and moaning his name. 

Bruce flexed against him after a moment, seeking the last bit of friction he needed. Clark pushed himself up and kissed him roughly, then reached between them, gently stroking the length of Bruce’s cock and running his thumb over his slit. Bruce shivered through another climax, his come hot against Clark’s hand and stomach, his words lost against Clark’s lips. After a few moments, Clark pulled out, disposed of the condom, and wiped them off with the sheet before tossing it aside. He pulled Bruce close against him and listened to his slowing heartbeat, his lips resting against Bruce’s neck and his hands caressing Bruce’s skin. Bruce glanced meaningfully at the restraints. Ordinarily, he’d be in the shower or already dressed by now. Clark held him more firmly.

“You’re not planning on taking these off any time soon, are you?” he grumbled.

“Nothing gets past the world’s greatest detective,” Clark murmured, nuzzling him.

“Damn it, Clark.”

He chuckled quietly and ran his fingers over Bruce’s stomach. “If it’s really bothering you, I’ll undo them. I’d prefer not to, though. Humor me for a few more minutes?”

“I will humor you for precisely another 180 seconds.”

“Thank you.” Clark sucked at his earlobe. _I need you. I worry about you. I love you._ “You’ll have to come up with some way for me to repay you.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and then left them fall closed, the reassuring warmth at his back and the heavy arm lying over his side grounding him. He couldn’t help but find the idea of repayment ridiculous. He didn’t-- _couldn’t_ \--want anything more than what they were already doing.


End file.
